Patient N
by Frost Deejn
Summary: They promised to get him the best doctor in the world... A psychiatrist tries to gain insight into the mind of a young runaway who returned with amnesia.


Disclaimer: I do not own Digimon, nor do I profit therefrom.

Patient N

_This, _she wrote in the margin of her notes, _may be the most intriguing case of my career._

Dr. Aisling Dolan leaned over the notebook as she reviewed tonight's unusual session. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. Her hair, copper red accented with light grey, floated cloudlike over her shoulders. It framed a face that was long and thin, dusted with freckles, and lined with intense concentration. Small green eyes gazed from deep beneath thick, unruly brows.

The notes identified the patient only as "N." His parents wanted to keep even that they brought him to see her a secret. She completely understood. The case had received enough attention as it was. In her opinion, they were right to be shielding their son from the media. Publicity would do no good for his condition.

A neurologist at Odaiba Hospital recommended her to the parents. The father had called her from a pay phone outside the hospital to arrange a late-night appointment. She hadn't objected to the odd hours. She often stayed late at her clinic to finish paperwork or do some reading. There were many advantages to living alone. Some people wondered about a fifty-year-old single female psychiatrist, but she was sure she got as much satisfaction from her work as she would have if she'd chosen to have a family instead. She'd been interested in psychiatry since before she knew there was a word for it. Born and raised in rural County Roscommon, Ireland, she went to college in Dublin, fell in love with Tokyo on a class trip to Japan, and moved there to start her own practice as soon as she graduated from med school.

The father met with her when he got off work. She wanted to get some background on her patient.

"Mr. Ichijouji, can you tell me about your son's personality before he disappeared?"

"Well..." the man had to think about it. That was a bad sign. It either indicated he didn't think much about his son, or he didn't think much of his son. "He's very smart and good at sports."

"I know. Tell me things the media wouldn't notice about him. There are things only family or close friends would notice."

"He didn't have any..._close_ friends, really."

Translation: no friends. For such a celebrity, especially one so handsome and popular, that could only mean he had serious personality problems.

"Mr. Ichijouji, it's important, for your son's sake, that you're completely honest with me. Remember, nothing you say will leave this room."

He paused for a long moment. "When he was home, he spent a lot of time in his room. He wasn't home a lot. He kept very busy."

"You're saying he didn't spend much time with you."

"No," he admitted sadly.

"Did he spend much time on the computer?"

"Yes. It was kind of his hobby."

Aisling nodded. Maybe not friends, but the boy definitely would have had acquaintances online that his parents didn't know about. Perhaps he stayed with some of them after he ran away. "Did he have any pets?"

"He didn't have time for pets."

"How did he handle the pressure he was under?"

"Fine. He loved the attention. He didn't let himself fail."

"Did he ever get angry?"

"No. He was always very...polite."

She scribbled in her notebook. She wrote in Irish to prevent anyone from reading her notes, and her handwriting was deliberately sloppy. _N was distant toward parents. Controlled. Didn't tolerate failure in himself._

"He was never rude, but was he patient with others?" The Japanese concepts of _omote _and _ura _made practicing psychiatry in Japan especially challenging. The people here compartmentalized themselves so completely into their public face and private persona that it was difficult to cut through one to get to the other. There were many challenges to having a psychiatry practice in Japan. She could see Mr. Ichijouji was struggling against his cultural training for how to talk of one's own son.

"That depends on what you mean. He...sometimes had trouble understanding others'...limitations. He's so smart he gets frustrated that other people can't communicate with him on his level."

_Egomaniacal_, she wrote.

"But, you have to understand...since he woke up, he's been completely different. If he didn't look exactly the same, I wouldn't believe he was the same person. He says he doesn't remember anything. The doctors said that it wasn't caused by a head injury."

"And they're right. Brain injuries typically cause only short-term memory loss. In cases of complete amnesia, which are extraordinarily rare, it is nearly always caused by extreme psychological trauma. Perhaps the most famous such case is that of the British novelist Agatha Christie, who disappeared for several days, and claimed not to remember who she was. There have been suggestions that it was merely a publicity stunt."

"Dr. Shiozaki said Ken might just be pretending to not remember anything."

"Whether his mind is avoiding memories he can't deal with, or he's not talking about memories he doesn't want to deal with, it amounts to the same thing."

Bright light flashed across the window, accompanied by the sound of a car coming to a stop. Dr. Dolan and Mr. Ichijoujo went outside and watched as Mrs. Ichijouji got out of the car, went to the passenger door, and led her son out by the hand.

Aisling's eyes widened at the sight of the boy. He was nothing like she expected. _Lost_. That was the first word to come to her mind. This child was lost. But it was more than that. A memory from her childhood sprang to mind. She'd found a young fox after a rainstorm. The soaked, weak fox didn't make a sound when she picked it up. If she didn't see the chest rise and fall, she would have though it was dead. It had the same blank look in its eyes as this boy had. It had given up. Not despair. Despair was the last throes of hope. There wasn't enough hope left in the fox or this boy to despair. She'd taken the fox home and nursed it back to health. It grew into a tame, affectionate pet. Like a wild horse or a captured hawk that had to be broken before it could be trained. _Broken. _This boy was broken.

"Ken, honey, this is Doctor Dolan. She's going to talk to you," the mother said gently.

Ken's eyes lifted to Aisling's face, but he only half-saw her. He blinked and his lips parted slightly, but he didn't speak.

"Come with me." Aisling went into her office. Ken followed. She closed the door. "Please sit," she said, pointing to a comfortable sofa.

Like a sleepwalker, Ken moved to the seat. She sat in her own chair. She didn't speak for a minute. She only watched Ken. His expression didn't change. He wasn't expectant or impatient. He didn't seem to know or care where he was.

"Ken?"

The boy blinked. He looked up. Aisling was beginning to see more in his face. He wasn't emotionless, as she first thought. His emotions were turbulent and conflicted, but they were focused inward. He had no interest in sharing his inner turmoil with the world. What caused that turmoil?

"Do you know where you are?"

He looked perplexed. "Not...really," he said quietly. Apologetically?

"My name is Aisling."

He looked down again, seemingly forgetting she was there.

She thought for a minute. She needed a question he would have to answer. She had to get into his head. "How do you feel? Don't think about it; just say the first thing that comes to you."

"It's a strange question," the boy said. After a moment, he added quietly, "I don't understand."

He didn't mean the question, she was almost sure. "What don't you understand?"

"The feelings. The whispers. In my head." He stood up and walked to the window. He stared at the curtains pulled across it.

Over a minute later, Aisling realized he wasn't going to elaborate. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. I can't see them. It's too dark." Another thought shot across his mind, unbidden. _I'm too dark._ What did that mean?

"What can't you see?"

"Their faces."

"Whose faces?"

Ken whispered. "I don't know." He turned around. His eyes focused on Aisling for the first time. "Doctor...Dolan?"

"Yes. That is my name."

"There are five of them. I don't know who they are. I think I did know, but I forgot. I think they hate me."

"Why do you think they hate you?"

He turned away again, turned inside again. She thought he wouldn't answer. But then he did. "Because we are what we do."

She stood up and took a step toward him. "What did you do?" she inquired.

Confusion washed over his face, then it went blank and he stared forward.

"Ken..." Aisling tentatively placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked at it, uncomprehending, as though he wasn't sure what it was. But he didn't pull away.

"Is that who I am?" he asked.

"Don't you remember ever being called that before? Your parents called you that, your teachers called you that, your soccer coaches called you that. You got good grades in school, and you were great at soccer. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," he said uncertainly_. I can see the faces of my teammates. I remember my test scores. But there's something wrong. There's something missing._

"That was before you left. Do you remember where you went?"

Ken didn't answer.

"You remember being called Ken? Then why don't you think that's who you are?"

"Because...I'm dead_." Yes. Dead. But why? Why does that make so much sense to me_?

"You had a brother. He's dead, but you're not. Do you think you're your brother?"

"Sam? No_." No. It was something else_.

"You remember..." She saw Ken fade away again, lost in his own thoughts. He wandered away, as if she weren't even there. "I hear you're good at chess," she said, trying to win back his focus. "I have a chess set. Would you like to play?"

He jumped a little, as though he was surprised that she was there. "Chess? No..." He sounded confused. "No. Please don't make me play."

What an odd thing to say. Aisling slowly reached for her notebook and pen_. N horrified by the thought of playing chess._

Ken turned to the wall, where there was a bookshelf with books on one level, and various decorations on another. Ken's attention was caught by a geode.

Aisling smiled. The shelf of knickknacks was not merely for decoration. She found it illuminating to see what objects her patients were drawn to. They were props, tools for diagnosis.

"I wonder if there's anything like an inside-out geode," Ken muttered. "Beautiful on the outside..."

"You can touch it if you want."

Ken glanced at her. "I'd be afraid to break it." He looked at the other objects on the shelf. He paused at a hand mirror inlaid with a mosaic of mother-of-pearl and abalone shell. "It looks like the rainbow on a bubble."

"I guess it does. I've never thought of that."

The boy picked up the mirror, but he turned it over so he couldn't see his reflection. He stared at the inlay, let his fingers trace across it lightly. Over a minute went by, then he put the mirror down quickly, face-down.

"It's okay to hold it," Aisling said. If studying the pattern helped him understand himself, then it helped her.

He looked at her apologetically. "I'd break it."

Aisling nodded subtly. She didn't think Ken noticed. "Will you do something for me?" she asked.

"Okay," he said.

She put a sheet of paper and a pencil on the desk. "Could you draw me a picture? Whatever you want. It doesn't even have to be a picture of anything, just draw whatever you feel like."

He picked up the pencil, turned it in his hand like he was studying it, then touched its tip to the paper lightly.

Aisling slipped out of the room as Ken drew. The parents were waiting in the lobby. They stood up when they saw her come out.

"What do you think, Doctor?" Mr. Ichijouji asked.

"I haven't finished my diagnosis yet, but I think there are some things I can tell you."

"What?" Mrs. Ichijouji inquired.

"I'm fairly certain he hasn't been abused. He doesn't show any of the typical signs."

Mrs. Ichijouji took a deep breath. "Oh thank god," she whispered.

"And the bad news?" Mr. Ichijouji asked.

"I didn't say there was bad news." A half-smile flickered at the edge of her lips. "I've never seen a case quite like this, but I believe there's hope that your son will recover."

"What's wrong with him?"

"I think he suffered some traumatic event for which he blames himself; something so terrible he's not allowing himself to remember it. It's causing problems with both his long-term and short-term memory. I'm not saying he'll ever be the same: children are changing and reinventing themselves all the time, and an event as tragic as the one your son went through wouldn't leave anyone unaltered, but children are remarkably resilient. He'll face his memories when he's ready to deal with them. In the meantime, it's very important that you don't push him. The more you push him, the more he'll draw into himself; it would only slow his recovery. What he needs from you is unconditional support and love."

"Of course," Mr. Ichijouji said quickly.

Aisling gave them a reassuring smile and returned to her patient. He was sketching abstract shapes in a corner of the paper. She paused as she examined the picture over his shoulder. It wasn't as abstract as she first thought. It was a highly stylized self-portrait that showed the inside of his head—empty except for something dark and sharp. Along the sides of the paper were circles that might have been bubbles.

"What is this?" She pointed to the shape in the head.

Ken blinked slowly. He was blank again, lost again. He stood up slowly and walked away. He stopped in the middle of the room and stood still, letting his eyes fall to the floor.

"Ken?"

He turned toward her. "I'm so alone," he whispered. "Why am I so alone?" His tone was not that of a rhetorical question. He wanted an explanation. He wanted her to tell him why this was happening to him.

Aisling had no doubt that the pain was real. It was a hopeful sign; loneliness could provide the motivation to change, to seek the answers, to reach out beyond himself. It was a step above the numbness he'd exhibited when he first stepped into the office. "You've lost yourself," she tried to explain, "but I think you'll find yourself again. Your parents are there for you, and I'm here for you. It's my job to help you."

_No one can help me._ Ken wasn't sure if he said it out loud. The thought faded away, and with it the spark that Aisling saw in his eyes when he asked his desperate question.

Aisling led him back to his parents. She wondered how much of the session he would remember later. She couldn't tell how much she'd helped him. He was too much a mystery.

His parents looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and skepticism as they walked out.

She returned to her office and opened her notebook, wondering if there was a clue in it that she'd missed. She would be up late searching the books that crowded her shelves for cases like this. She honestly wasn't sure how much she could help. Patient N would have to save himself.


End file.
